


Little Chefs and Big Steps Forward

by exquisitefrogprince



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Cooking, Gen, Job Interview, M/M, Mentioned Axel (Kingdom Hearts), Post-Kingdom Hearts III, Slice of Life, mentioned isa/terra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27089911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exquisitefrogprince/pseuds/exquisitefrogprince
Summary: After having finally managed to settle down in life following the keyblade war and a complicated recompletion, Isa sets his sights on something more frightening than Xehanort.Job Hunting.Organization XIII membership doesn't exactly look favorable on one's resume.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Little Chefs and Big Steps Forward

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting any of my independent writing publicly -- I hope you all enjoy!

Four deaths, a stent as a human lab rat, a keyblade war, and ten years of uninterrupted possession-induced descent into madness. Family, with him once again against likelihood, and a lover with whom he’d shared every bit of his own darkness, and done the same in return. 

So much strife, so much fear, and all of it conquered. 

A job interview should have been nothing at all. 

If that’s even what this was. . . perhaps Scrooge’s reasoning between wanting to have Isa cook for him was something else. Perhaps he was simply curious after hearing what Lea had told him, and that was the reason he’d reached out to Isa and asked him to come by the Bistro. 

Lea . . . the bastard. Out there in the worlds spreading praise, cheeky and confident and before Isa got the chance to protest. And, light, he would have protested. Simple, mundane things like culinary jobs simply weren’t Isa’s lot in life. 

Then again . . . what was? He’d become so accustomed to always fixing one trauma or another, or else, losing himself within it, that having nothing of the sort to handle at the moment had left him feeling rather useless. Had Isa become dependent on trouble? 

What did he do? He loved Terra. Did castle upkeep and cooking. Interacted with the others, and killed the occasional heartless. He trained. But what beyond that? 

Nothing worthwhile. Certainly nothing that made money, aside from what the heartless dropped. Perhaps that sort of life was pleasurable for some people, but Isa always had craved more structure. He’d always craved purpose and, while he had several now, he couldn’t help wanting something . . . else. 

Something simple . . . but meaningful. 

Perhaps that’s why his heart insisted on pounding a bit stronger than normal as he arrived in Twilight Town, dressed simply but nice since he was to be cooking, and started towards the Bistro. Perhaps he . . . truly wanted this. Or, at the very least, he wanted to be skilled enough to receive it. Light, when was the last time that Isa had been recommended for anything positive? 

Far too soon, he’d arrived at the restaurant. It was still an hour before dinner opening, which had likely been intentional on part of the landlord. Figuring that they knew he was coming and, at least to an extent, what he looked like, he rapped lightly on the door and waited for it to open. 

“Ay, there ya’ are, laddie –“ It was answered quickly, accompanied by the tinkling of a bell, by none other than the old, Scottish duck in question, almost as if he’d been waiting for Isa’s arrival. Dismissing his nerves and finding comfort in the fact that Scrooge was smiling, Isa gave a short, respectful bow and held his hand out to shake. 

“Hello. Apologies if I’ve kept you waiting,” he greeted, though he was five minutes early. “Thank you again for inviting me.” 

“Not at all, not at all –“ the businessduck chuckled, shaking Isa’s hand with one of his own feathered ones, then ushered the other into the restaurant and shut the door behind them. “I’ll take ye’ back to the kitchen. Got some’n’ waitin’ on ya.” 

Isa nodded, glancing briefly through the window before following Scrooge through the empty restaurant. Busboys could be seen every now and then, mopping and pulling chairs from tables to set back upright on the ground in preparation for dinner. “Is the one waiting this famous Little Chef I’ve heard so much about?” he asked, still in mild trepidation at the thought of facing a sentient rat. 

“The one’n’only,” Scrooge replied cheerily, leading Isa through a set of two-way double doors and into the kitchen. 

And, light, what an exquisite kitchen it was.  
Whatever nerves Isa had been clinging to momentarily fled as he looked around in slight awe at the display around him. Such a large space. . . so much state-of-the-art equipment. . . he was practically salivating, though with the urge to cook rather than to eat. 

Unfortunately, Scrooge didn’t give him time to pause and admire the scenery for very long, instead leading him to a workstation at the back of the kitchen with an array of ingredients laid out upon the counter. Isa’s poison, to be certain – his tools of sacrifice to be used to offer penance to the benevolent rat chef who would judge him. 

Speaking of, there was the man –er, rat. Er, chef – himself, sitting upright on the counter next to the food. In any other kitchen, such a sight would be terrifying. 

The rat smiled – somehow – and waved a hand in greeting, to which Isa gave another short and polite bow. “’E says it’s good ta see ya,” Scrooge chuckled, waddling to the other’s side. “Heard a lotta bout ya’ from that friend-o’-yours.” 

“Oh . . . I see.” Isa felt his face getting just the slightest bit warm. Knowing that his professional chef of a best friend had been actively advocating for and bragging about him to his bosses was. . . odd. 

“Don’t look like ya’ just got slapped with a fish, laddie –“ Scrooge patted Isa on the back, though it was slightly awkward considering he was far too short to be able to reach above the middle. That was something Isa would ignore, for now. 

Still smiling, the rat gestured a bit, looking rather excited, then darted over to the materials arranged on the counter and waved his hands. “Says ‘e wants you to make something special for ‘im,” Scrooge translated. “Says supper’s better when it comes from th’ heart. Wants you to make what your heart tells you. Says that’s the best way to tell a fella’s character.” 

Ah. . . so this was a test of character, then, in addition to his cooking. That made sense, Isa supposed. . . he had a bit of a reputation, and he knew that well enough. 

But they’d given him a chance, and it was one that Isa wouldn’t take lightly. Not one for small talk, he murmured a thank you, ensuring that he’d try his best and that he hoped his creation wouldn’t disappoint. Every word was sincere. 

As he moved briefly to the side to wash his hands, he couldn’t help allowing one to stray to the necklace around his throat. It was Terra’s . . . the one he’d given on a date what seemed like ages ago. This was the first time he’d seen Terra take it off; this morning, when he’d closed it around Isa’s neck, hair brushed gently to the side and kisses placed to the exposed crescent-moon tattoo on the back of his neck. 

Every bit of Terra’s love was stored within . . . love, and luck, and the energy of his beloved. That would flavor whatever Isa made to perfection. He simply had to trust. After all, he was never truly alone, even if Terra wasn’t physically beside him. 

Hands washed and dried, spirits higher, he returned to the work station and reached for a pan, only to be stopped by a feathered hand. “Aye – right, almos’ forgot,” the duck said, then nodded towards Little Chef, who had moved to Isa’s side and rested a tiny paw on his hand. “Gotta let Little Chef on ye. He’ll letcha work, but he wants t’ get a feel for how you do things. N’ he’ll help ye find things ye need. Think of it as a . . . test-o’-teamwork.” 

Ah. Right. The rat control. How could Isa have forgotten? It was through pure willpower that he managed to suppress a grimace, and Isa only nodded with a “Yes, of course,” while holding out his hand and allowing the creature to climb onto his head. 

As he felt Little Chef settling into his shorter strands of hair, he couldn’t help tensing. Isa had been controlled before, after all – far too much. It wasn’t something he wanted to experience again. 

Yet, as he started working, and the little tugs on longer strands of hair began to guide and jerk his movements, he realized this felt nothing like Xehanort at all. Little Chef’s movements were suggestions . . . they acted as a guide; a sort of hand-over hand, and if he’d truly wanted to he could have resisted. Perhaps that was because the rat could tell he was nervous . . . either way, he very much appreciated it and relaxed quickly. 

Something heartfelt. . . something special . . . 

“Cook like you’re cooking for me. Like a fancy date night.” 

Picking from the ingredients provided, Isa began preparations for seafood-stuffed mushrooms. Just like Terra would like. . . albeit with less cheese than normal . . . yes. Yes, he could to that. 

This wasn’t a test, He assured himself as he allowed Little Chef to guide him through finding a knife and cutting board. No one’s going to scold you for disappointing. You won’t be punished. You’re only enjoying yourself . . . doing this for one you love. Doing it for yourself. 

It, admittedly, took quite a bit, Isa started to relax as he worked. This dish was, thankfully, low preparation, though he’d been a bit ambitious in choosing to use different types of meats. Hopefully that was one way that he could distinguish himself from Lea. . . the Bistro already had one of those, after all, and there was no replacement. 

The meal he’d chosen, while delicate, was practiced and low preparation. It seemed like in no time at all, the mix was made and the mushrooms set to broil. Ingredients cut, prepped and combined effortlessly, Isa found himself relaxing more into Little Chef’s guiding movements, mind no longer caught up in nerves and thoughts of tests, but simply in the action in front of him. 

Yes . . .the task in front of him, and the necklace resting somehow warm against the skin of his chest. If Little Chef wanted a dish to be able to tell the depths of Isa’s character – if he wanted to be able to tell what Isa loved – then Isa would show him. 

After all, having replaced the anger and pain formerly kept so trapped within him, Isa now held an extreme amount of love. And, into this dish, he’d pour every bit. 

He worked happily, perhaps with a bit of flourish – a twirl of the knife, a toss of the pan – a bit of a showy drizzle of a bottle. Nothing over the top, of course, just enough for anyone who knew Isa to tell that he was very happy. 

In fact, he was humming. A song without words; one he’d played on violin for someone very special the same night that necklace had been given. 

Before long, the dish was completed; three mushrooms neatly arranged on a plate which he was instructed to take to the main part of the restaurant. Nodding ever so slightly so as not to disturb the fellow in his hair, Isa complied, walking with quite poise back out of the kitchen. Scrooge, having followed, took one of the seats at the table, and Little Chef moved form Isa’s head to his shoulder and down his arm as he set down the plate, moving onto the table himself. 

“I do hope you enjoy it,” Isa said, reserved yet confident, with yet another bow. “It’s one of my specialties, and a favorite of one very dear to me. This dish holds many memories.” 

Scrooge chuckled, then seemed to listen to Little Chef for a moment. “Aye, he says all tha best ones do. But that he likes ta make new ones, too, ya see, ‘cause that’s how ya make new memories.” 

Glancing between the duck and little chef, Isa gave a reserved smile, closing his eyes as he nodded. “I couldn’t have said it better myself,” he agreed in a quiet voice, then moved with practiced movements to cut them off each a piece of mushroom. “Precious memories, with people you care for. And when you serve food to others, you’re giving the opportunity to create their own with the people they care for.” 

Nerves were returning, then, just a bit, as Isa realized he very much genuinely cared about each of these people’s opinion, regardless of potential scoldings or job offers. He’d made something he was proud of . . . and he’d shared it. 

That was special . . . it was more vulnerable than Isa cared to admit, and more thrilling than he’d expected. 

He could only watch as his judges took their first bite, wishing them a “Bon appétit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did you think he got the job . . . ?


End file.
